A Dream of Venice
by MalbecMalcontent
Summary: LIZZINGTON fluff featuring three of my faves; Red, Liz and Venice.


AN: This was inspired by a prompt submitted on the Lizzington group. While the initial post suggested Red as a Pirate, the suggestions involved into many things, including Carnevale. Additional inspiration came from the movie "The Wings of a Dove." The poem within is mine.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Blacklist except my ongoing angst.

_Last night I dreamt_

_Of Venice_

_The cool palazzos_

_The black canals_

_I walked the streets, felt eyes in doorways_

_Whispers and figures lingering in the night_

_I saw you waiting in the shadowed arch_

_Cast in moonlight from stone bridge_

_I walked to you_

_Wading through the humid air_

Lizzie tiredly held her espresso, and watched another crowd of revelers pass by the cafe on their way to St. Mark's Square. Some carried flashlights, others lanterns. The rest drifted through the chilly night like vapors, fog clad in fancy dress.

By all rights, she should be ecstatic to be in Venice, especially during Carnevale. Most FBI "business trips" involved backwater locations or boring cities. Lizzie tried to remind herself that she was lucky to be in her current position. It would be so much easier to focus on that. were it not for the thorn in her side or rather, the thorn across from her.

Said thorn leaned forward and continued to gaze out the window, and was the only part of the pair that savored the passing spectacle. Red steepled his fingers under his chin, trying in vain to identify all of the characters that appeared.

"Oh Lizzie, look, a flock of those disturbing Medico della peste fellows. Why anyone would want to commemorate the great Plague at a festival is beyond me. Maybe it's supposed to be a metaphor for Catholicism? Never mind, it's not particularly important.

"Isn't this just wild though? Far more modest then Mardi Gras in New Orleans or Carnival in Rio, but there's something so forbidden and erotic about the modesty here. Covered up in that black cape, a tabarro, if I'm not mistaken...or those lush costumes. One can only imagine the lack of inhibition you must feel when completely anonymous."

He sipped his espresso, "I just adore Venice. A town of underhanded politics, violence, alliances and lies governed by ruthless men. Remind you of Washington, sweetheart? Pity Washington is more pinstripes then rich Venican silk and lace, they have so much more style here."

Lizzie spun her saucer in impatience, and rose to order a cappuccino from the counter, despite Red's reminder that the Italians view it as a morning drink. The last few days had been a blur of car rides and airplane trips. While Red cruised over on his private jet several days ago, the FBI didn't see fit for Lizzie to fly directly to Marco Polo so she was forced to endure the most circuitous flight in existence.

She arrived a few hours ago, and after catching a vapporetto over, had met Red at his opulent hotel to sort out the details of the next blacklister. Her terrible jet lag made the evening seem that much more surreal.

Number 54, "The Volto" was the most notorious smuggler in this part of the world. Or would have been if anyone in law enforcement knew who he was. Volto delt in arms, art, antiquities and most disturbingly, very young girls from Eastern Europe.

Red insisted that this operation had to happen on location and with only Lizzie and the local authorities involved. The takedown was scheduled for Shrove Tuesday, during the last day of Carnavale. That was set for the day after tomorrow, on Ash Wednesday. Red had a flair for dramatic, capture on the day after the Bacchanal, when fasting and abstinance began. She wondered wryly if the suspect happened to be Catholic, and what he would think about his Lentan sacrifice.

Red focused on Lizzie again, and a corner of of his mouth quirked. "So, cara mia, we have 48 hours until our little scheme plays out. My very competent contacts and your agencies meager intel has confirmed that everything is in place, so we can just go over the file until we black out...which I'm certain would be amusing. Or, we can do as the Venitans do and join the masque."

Lizzie stared at him, aghast, "You aren't serious...Red. I am not sanctioned to do anything beyond capturing the Blacklister. This is not a vacation, not a farce, and completely inappropriate."

Red ducked his head slightly, chuckling delightedly, "Inappropiate farcical vacations, you might say they're a specialty of mine. But don't get your snood in a snit, Lizzie, and ruin it all. Drink up and _andiamo."_

She shook her head in a feeble attempt to counter, but before she could convey further reluctance, she was swept out of the cafe and down the street towards the square.

She tried to repress her excitement under a guise of disaproval, and was entirely unsuccessful.

TBLTBLTBLTBLTBLTBL

That's all for now, folks. I've had this little snippet from last year, and it feels like a trope-tasic, fluffy mess...but that's ok now and again. Please read and review, if so inclined.


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